


Come With Me

by VenomQuill



Series: Gravity Trails [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, Gravity Trails AU, post "Fiddleford quits the Project"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 20:07:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12778548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenomQuill/pseuds/VenomQuill
Summary: Fiddleford has quit the project. We know the story of hurt, betrayal, and ultimate suffering on all sides. But what if a neutral party finds them? Can the presence of just one other entity change the course of history forever...?





	Come With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Find it on dA: http://fav.me/dbuc97a

Fiddleford heard the door behind him slam shut. His former friend and partner’s yells buzzed in his ears, fading away as he went. _“Fine! I'll do it without you! I don't need you! I don't need anyone!”_

The elevator door was open. Fiddleford was stalking to his car on memory alone. As he walked to his car and eventually drove to his temporary little house, he couldn’t shake these awful thoughts off. Those monsters cackling and running about in an ethereal plane, the triangle hovering close by, its wide eye on him and slit pupil staring into his very soul. Then, that awful laugh that shook his very bones. Worst of all, though, was the knowledge that _he_ helped cause this and that because of him and his trust in Stanford, the world was going to end.

Fiddleford left for his study. There had to be something he could do. He set his laptop down on his desk and, after typing in a password he didn’t need to think about, shuffled through his computer. It was tied to that blasted machine so that any time a power surge went through or it was activated or anything at all happened to it, an alarm would wail. The thing still had power, but the portal itself had been closed. Well _good._ Just as long as he didn’t have to see it reopen, he had some time to concentrate.

Fiddleford leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. He saw those demons again. So, he contented himself to stare at the ceiling. There was nothing he could do. Fiddleford was taught that if he broke something, by golly he had to do everything he could to fix it. But how could he fix this? He’d have to convince Stanford to shut it down. But knowing Stanford, the entire world could knock down his door and he wouldn’t falter.

Fiddleford could call up the man’s parents, but he didn’t know their phone number. Besides, Stanford had always been very clear: his family was _his_ family and no matter what, Fiddleford couldn’t interfere. There was always something about the man’s family that put him on edge. He’d always gotten this look about him whenever Fiddleford asked him about his siblings. After all, Fiddleford had quite a few and he couldn’t be happier around them. But Stanford would only give him a mumble about “Shermie” and leave it at that. He had a feeling Stanford wasn’t too close to this brother.

Fiddleford sighed and leaned forward again. The only way to fix this would be to convince Stanford to shut it down. After all, this doomsday device was planned by him–after leaving the more advanced mechanical parts to Fiddleford or the aliens that had died here who-knows-how-long ago–and made in his basement.

So, there was nothing he could do.

Fiddleford sighed and shut down the laptop. Maybe he should call his wife, check up on Tate. Fiddleford was tempted to go back home, but the thought of this doomsday device stopped him. Yeah, he could go back home and stay with them as long as he could before those demons got out. Or he could stay here and find a way to _stop_ those demons from getting out.

Well, he couldn’t think right now. So, he may as well just lay down until this headache that had formed to go away.

 

Fiddleford woke up in a cold sweat that morning. That God forsaken demon’s cackle rang in his ears. The image of those nightmares branded his eyes. He shook his head and looked at the wall opposite of him. “4:30” ticked by. Fiddleford sighed and, despite his burnt out body’s protests, got out of bed and trudged to the kitchen. The hot smell of coffee soon permeated the little house.

 

Fiddleford jumped out of bed and started to pace again. It had been three days. Papers with plans were scattered in clumped up balls on the ground of his study and room, as he often woke in the middle of the night. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t sleep. _He couldn’t sleep._ The thought of his invention popped into his mind again. God, he wished he could forget. But if he forgot, he couldn’t stop it. After all, what could he stop that he didn’t know about? But none of his plans were going to work, anyway…

Fiddleford jumped as the phone rang in the kitchen. He ignored it, again. It rang a few times every day ever since he left. Fiddleford had been dragged through the mud and then helped back to his feet to repeat the cycle too many times. He wasn’t falling for it. He wasn’t going to help the man that hurt him and that would end up hurting everyone.

Instead, he went back to his desk and thought. His sluggish mind was refusing to cooperate. Instead of plans to destroy that machine or convince Stanford to destroy it, the memory gun’s siren song played in his head. Fiddleford stared down at the desk. He looked back at his back wall. He hadn’t bothered taking anything down or erasing his plans and theories about the portal. His blackboard was covered in drawings and his corkboard was unseen through the papers tacked to it. Papers were taped to the wall. Most of it had to do with the portal, but some were just his own inventions.

Fiddleford sighed and got up. Soon enough, the golden gun was in his hands. Fiddleford was normally antsy around guns, but not this one. The muzzle had been replaced by a blue, oblong bulb. A red blast shield was set firmly behind it. A dial was on one side and a tube holder on the other side. He turned it around to look at the screen on the back that would soon hold letters. Fiddleford sighed, set it on his desk, and turned on a camera pointed at himself. “My name is Fiddleford Hadron McGucket and I wish to unsee what I’ve seen.”

 

Days later, Fiddleford was still in a bit of a daze. He had swept up the crumpled papers and threw them in the bin. He didn’t dare open them. What if, by opening them and seeing their contents, the memory gun’s good work could get scrambled? After all, he was no expert in neurology. He just knew enough to complete his invention. The memory gun was supposed to target and scramble certain neurons to erase memories. But the human brain was a fascinating thing. Humans had amazing regenerative abilities. What if his brain repaired itself? He couldn’t take that chance. He might not remember the events, but he remembered the _emotion._ The emotions were terrifying.

Fiddleford washed up a bit before going downstairs for breakfast. He’d slept well through the night and now the clock read “7:50”. That was pretty late, but whatever his mind didn’t know, his body compensated, and his body told him that he hadn’t slept well in days.

Fiddleford had just made himself a cup of coffee and taken the eggs off the pan when he saw the curtains were closed in his window. He must have closed them yesterday. Welp, it was a pretty day out. After all, it was the summer. Despite being hot, and despite being terrifying, Gravity Falls had a certain charm to it. So, he pulled back the curtains, opened the windows, and then screamed. The man scrambled back and held onto the fridge door to keep from falling.

Standing a mere foot away from the window was the largest buck Fiddleford had ever seen. His head couldn’t fit through the window, but holy Mother his heavy breaths were still able to stir the curtains. The stag was also different from the others in its fur. It’s fur and giant branching antlers were whiter than fresh winter snow. Thick muscles rippled beneath his hide. The thing stared at Fiddleford with great golden eyes. If Fiddleford really concentrated, he could’ve sworn pink and blue hid within the stag’s round eyes.

Fiddleford and the stag stared at each other. The man didn’t know how long he stood there, paralyzed, but by the time he was finally able to tear his gaze away from the stag’s, his food was cold. Fiddleford gulped and stood up straight. “What are you doin’ here? Aren’tcha supposed to be out in the woods or somethin’?”

The stag didn’t bat an eye at the sudden movement and words.

“Uh… can you hear me?”

…

“Yeah, I thought so.” Fiddleford cleared his throat and slowly approached the counter with his food on it. The eggs and biscuits were straight under the window. Wait… why was Fiddleford so afraid? It was just a deer. A really, really big deer that was completely unafraid of him. “You, uh… you some kind of imported pet or somethin’?”

…

The sudden realization that he was talking to a deer struck him. “Uh, shoo. Go on!” Fiddleford waved his hand at the window. “Shoo! You stay here any longer an’ those lumberjacks will strike you down!”

The stag looked down at the man’s hand and then Fiddleford. Slowly, the stag turned and walked away.

“Right.” Fiddleford shut the window. “Gunna… gunna hear about this missin’ deer soon enough.” Then again, if this creature wasn’t an escaped pet or trophy, and it was a product of the weirdness of Gravity Falls, it was less scary than everything else he’d seen. Fiddleford shuttered at the memory of the beasts he came across with Stanford. While the scientist stared at creatures with more teeth then hair with the wonder and excitement of a teen coming across an unlocked alcohol cupboard, Fiddleford had rarely stayed of his own volition. Heh. If Stanford had been here, he’d be muttering under his breath too quick to understand the words and scribbling in his journal with as much fervor as Fiddleford did whenever a new idea popped into his head.

The once fond memory turned bittersweet. Oh, right. They weren’t friends anymore, were they? No, they really shouldn’t be. Stanford was too reckless and excitable over these strange things.

Fiddleford shook his head and went back to his cold breakfast.

 

That evening, the stag wasn’t there. He wasn’t there the next morning, either. After staying in his study for hours, Fiddleford went out to go grab some dinner. He started off to the living room but didn’t quite get there.

His bulk taking up most of the living room and his huge head lowered so that his gargantuan rack didn’t break anything was the white deer.

Fiddleford screamed and scrambled back. His dinner plate broke and sent gravy, potatoes, pork, and juice spilling over the linoleum. The stag didn’t flinch. He just stared right back at Fiddleford with that same calm, slightly curious gaze he held yesterday. Fiddleford stared at him. “Y-you’re in my living room.”

…

“How did you get in here?” Fiddleford looked at the door. It wasn’t open. “D-did someone put you in here?”

…

“Right. Uh…” Fiddleford took a deep breath. “Okay. You’re in my house. I’m gunna open that door and you’re gunna go outside. You make any sudden movements an’ I’ll call animal control, alright?”

…

Fiddleford slowly stepped around the deer. Hiss gaze followed Fiddleford as he walked along the wall of the living room, taking care to stay as far away as possible. When he got around to the stag’s backside, the man hesitated. Those back legs were _strong_ and those hooves were very sharp. The memory of his cousin nearly getting gutted by a spooked buck much smaller than this beast got into his head.

Fiddleford took a deep breath, muttered a quick prayer, and scooted around him. The stag turned his head so that he wouldn’t hurt himself trying to crane his neck. The living room ceiling light shattered. Glass sprinkled over the buck’s side. He paid no heed to it. “Y-you’re really startin’ ta creep me out, ya know.” Fiddleford said as he got to the door.

…

Fiddleford opened the front door and backed away. “Okay, you can come out now! Come on out!”

For a short while, the stag didn’t move. Then, he ducked his head further and scooted out of the living room. There wasn’t the slightest struggle as he got through the door and into the driveway. Once he was outside, he looked back at Fiddleford. The man smiled and then dashed inside. He peered out one of the windows. The buck stared at him for a little while before walking off again.

 

“Hey, there.” Fiddleford was at his dining room table. The stag was outside the window again. He’d appeared every day for two weeks. For the first two days, it was mostly at home. But soon, any time Fiddleford was alone, he was standing _right there._ His visits were more frequent now that he’d created the Society of the Blind Eye. In fact, his visits started as once a day but, as the days progressed, he appeared more and more often.

Now, two weeks later, Fiddleford was quite used to the creature.

“So, did you find someone else to bother or is it just me?” Fiddleford tried to keep the barb out of his tone, but the chaos of the day was wearing on him.

…

“Yeah, I thought so.” He took a drink of his orange juice. “Was a nice day today. Didn’t see ya in the museum for a change. Don’t like the stuffed cats, I assume.”

…

“Mhm. Talkin’ to maself. Like usual.” Then, the stag moved. Fiddleford watched as the stag stuck his muzzle through the window. He snorted, causing the curtains to shutter. When Fiddleford followed his gaze, he found him staring at the phone. “What? You want me ta call you or somethin’? Miss yer owners?”

The stag retracted his head and resumed staring at Fiddleford. When the man went back to his meal, the stag repeated the action. This time, he drew in a bit more air. The cord on the phone shuttered a bit as it caught the breeze the stag caused.

“What do ya want?” Fiddleford shot back. “Ah don’t know their phone numbers or whatever.”

Calm as could be, the stag retracted his head and walked off.

Fiddleford stared at him in surprise. Did it really take only that to make him leave…?

_Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!_

Fiddleford jumped as a heavy knock came to the front door. He jumped up and ran to the window. The stag stood at the front door. Once he noticed Fiddleford–which was as soon as the man arrived–he clopped over to the window. Fiddleford backed off. The stag stuck his muzzle inside and snorted. A picture frame fell over. Fiddleford hesitantly picked it up and looked it over. Photograph-Fiddleford grinned right back up at him, a woman with an infant by his side.

The man sighed and looked up at the stag. The creature was gone. When Fiddleford went back into the kitchen, the stag was there, blowing on the phone. Only when Fiddleford reached the phone did he realize he hadn’t called his wife in two whole weeks. The phone in his hand and finger hovering over the last number on the phone, he looked up. The stag was gone.

 

Another two days passed of the white deer following Fiddleford around. This time, the stag met him in the window of his bedroom. Fiddleford had walked in on the stag trying to grab something off his bedside table. Without really thinking about it, Fiddleford picked up the object and held it out. The stag took the book from him and stepped back a few paces. When Fiddleford poked his head out, the stag was lying down, staring at a photo of a man Fiddleford knew well.

“You know him?” Fiddleford asked without surprise.

The stag, for once, didn’t look at him. He kept staring at the photo.

“He lives in a cabin outside of town.” Fiddleford pointed down the road in the direction of Stanford’s cabin. “You can visit him if you want.”

The stag looked up at him. He didn’t stand up.

“Yeah, you have fun.” Fiddleford went to bed without shutting the window.

 

The next day, the stag wasn’t at the window to greet him. Surprised, Fiddleford poked his head outside. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t in front of the bedroom window, the living room window, or the bathroom window–which the stag never visited in the first place. He opened the front door and… nothing. A sudden panic welled up inside of him. Fiddleford walked around his house. The stag wasn’t there. The photobook wasn’t there, either. “Stag? Ya here? Hello?”

Fiddleford, still donned in his pajamas and his keys left on the kitchen counter, walked out to town. The stag wasn’t by his usual haunts at the museum, diner, road back to Fiddleford’s house, or anything of the like. For hours, Fiddleford searched around town for the stag. He wasn’t by the lake or the convenience store or near any of the lumberjack’s houses. Fiddleford even chanced going out to the cabin in the woods. The lights were off and a sign stating “GET OUT” was pinned to the door. The stag was nowhere in sight.

The thought of why he was searching occurred to him. It was just a deer. In fact, Fiddleford had tried shooing it off the first few days he’d seen it. On occasion, he’d still sarcastically tell the deer to get a move on. But now that the stag wasn’t there it was… weird. It felt _bad_.

Eventually, he got dressed, picked up his wallet, and went out to the store. He came back with a salt lick and a couple bags of corn feed. He did just as the man at the shop told him to do. _“I guarantee you that a few does will start visiting at the least. Maybe a buck if you’re lucky.”_

That night, after setting everything up, he realized that he hadn’t even thought about the Blind Eye that day. For once, he was… oddly okay with it.

 

The buck wasn’t there that night. In fact, he wasn’t there the next day or the day after that. Fiddleford checked around his house every day. Sometimes, he’d stand in the kitchen, just out of sight of the living room door. When he opened it, the faint hope of seeing that giant stag laying there was broken. Every time he drew the curtains and opened the windows, the hope of seeing those giant golden eyes was diminished. In fact, the phone hadn’t rung, either. Stanford had stopped calling him. For the first time since he arrived in Gravity Falls he felt the incredible force of loneliness.

The fifth day passed and Fiddleford gave up.

The sixth day after the stag left, Fiddleford was in his study. He held up his memory gun. He’d just gotten back from the Society and now it was in his hands. _For inspection_ , he had said. But that was a blatant lie. He held the thing in his hands, trying to remember the reason why he made it. He made it to get rid of bad memories and help him–and others–sleep at night. He made it after witnessing his worst nightmare in the eyes of a gremloblin. Stanford ordered him to destroy it. Instead, Fiddleford had lied and erased the man’s memory. He’d used the thing on his friend without telling him. Fiddleford had been so caught up in the Society that he’d forgotten to call his family for two weeks.

Fiddleford started tinkering with the thing.

Then, the window shuttered.

Fiddleford looked up and sucked in his breath. There he was! Standing right outside his window was the white stag.

Fiddleford jumped up and raced to the window, grinning. He left the memory gun on the table. The stag turned and walked around to the front of the house. Fiddleford immediately followed. Once he opened the door, he saw him standing there, right in the middle of his driveway.

For the first time, the stag opened its mouth and bleated. He snorted and stared at Fiddleford. “You got somethin’ ta say?” Fiddleford walked forward.

The stag dipped his head and bleated again.

Just as Fiddleford approached, the stag raised his head and started to walk off. When Fiddleford just watched, the stag turned his head and pawed at the ground.

“You want me to follow?”

The stag walked into the forest. Fiddleford decided to follow. As the man followed, the stag sped up. Fiddleford sped up his walk. The white stag looked back and sped up his own pace. Soon enough, the stag was bounding through the forest and Fiddleford was following at a dead sprint.

The stag burst through the trees and raced down the sidewalk that flanked a blacktop road. Fiddleford paid no heed to the city around him. No thoughts as to how they got into such a big city on foot didn’t concern him. No, the only thing that concerned him was the stag.

Eventually, the stag slowed. Fiddleford, exhausted, slowed to a stop. He leaned forward and set his hands on his knees. After taking a few deep breaths, he looked up. The stag stared back at him. Then, he raised his hoof and pawed the ground three times. He turned and walked off. The white stag’s body shuttered and dissipated into mist.

Fiddleford stared at it. Was that a… it was just a ghost.

Then, the door to the house nearby opened. “Dad!”

Fiddleford stood up straight. Tate raced out of the house, squealing and laughing. Fiddleford, his grin coming back to him, knelt and held open his arms. He was almost thrown back by the force of the boy. “Tate! How’s it goin’ buddy?”

“I missed you, Dad!” Tate squeezed him back.

“Aw, I’ve missed you too, Tater Tot.” Fiddleford looked up. Standing in the open doorway was his wife. Although she looked like she’d taken a bit of a hit in the sleeplessness department, seeing her son so happy and seeing her husband for the first time in months took it away.

As Fiddleford reunited with his wife and listened as Tate chattered on about what he did in school, he sent a silent thanks to the stag. Later, he realized that he’d left the memory gun at his little house. But honestly? He couldn’t care less about it, not anymore.

Then, days after the stag dissipated into mist, Fiddleford found him standing outside his living room window. Fiddleford had just sent Tate off to school. “Heya, Buddy.”

The stag stared at him, turned his head, and then wandered off. In his place was a rather scruffy looking man gulping for air after a long run. Fiddleford’s eyes grew round. The man stared at him with the same expression of shock.

“Fiddle–”

“Stan–”

“–ford?”

**Author's Note:**

> Another work for ["Gravity Trails"](http://fav.me/dbs1pbt)! :D I'm so proud of this AU...
> 
> Anyway, here's another example of the basic mechanics of the AU. Someone's awfully hurt and is in need of spiritual guidance. There he is! The White Stag! Since he takes the form of a deer, he's pretty much at a _loss for words._
> 
> ...sorry, not sorry.
> 
> This isn't a one-shot, believe it or not! Coming soon to a theater near you is Part Two!


End file.
